Archives for category: Reasons I’m so screwed up

I love, love, love eating baked goods.

The end.

Ok, Not really.

Eating the baked goods technically is the end of the journey.  The problem is the rest of that journey.  I enjoy baking and if I have a whole day to do it I can really appreciate it.  However, when I don’t have time I usually want to give up about mid-way through the process of any baking adventure and just quit. 

That’s why 90% of the time I usually end up eating batter or cookie dough instead of the finished product.

I have a problem. I am the messiest baker ever. No really, you can ask anyone who has ever baked with me. Even a simple “add water and bake” type recipe ends up all over my kitchen. 

For example, last night I was making red velvet cake balls and honestly it looked like I had murdered someone in my kitchen. There was red EVERYWHERE! Then there was the melted chocolate everywhere. I spent a lot of the evening scraping that off of things. Oh and then how I used, let’s see, six different bowls. SIX. For cake pops which should require maybe at the most three.

On top of being the messiest baker I’m also apparently the messiest eater. I walk out from the kitchen and this is the conversation that follows:

Husband: “Did you try some of the icing?”
Me: “Why do you ask?”
Husband:”Just go look in the mirror…”
….Me looking in the mirror….
Husband: “Did you actually get any in your mouth?”

Also, I ate cake that got on my shirt.

This is the reality of my life.  I share it with you to make you feel better about yourself. You’re welcome.

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Oh except not.

Apparently my goal for the weekend was to embarrass myself in public as soon as I possibly could. It didn’t take long. Friday night Brian and I were going to look at bikes. I’ve been wanting to get a bike for a while now so I could get my cardio in someway other than jogging. See I’ve already figured out that if for some horrible reason I do go to Hell that Satan is going to curse me to jogging for the rest of eternity. That pretty much sums up my feelings towards jogging.

Brian pulls down a bike for me to try. It’s a smaller bike because I’m only about a Snooki and half. I hop on to try it out.

YOU ALL, I FORGOT HOW TO RIDE A BIKE!

How does this even happen? I could not keep my balance and my feet couldn’t grasp the pedals. It took me around ten minutes just to make it down the aisle. I was flipping and flopping the whole way down though.

Then we try a child’s bike. Things weren’t much better with this. I could actually maneuver this bike, but I was still flopping everywhere. I’m not really sure what happened in the couple of years that it’s been since I’ve ridden a bike. You actually can forget how to ride a bike. Let me be an example of this.

Needless to say my husband sent me to go practice on the recumbent bikes.

Saturday. A day reserved for errands and general merriment. Almost every week my husband and I go to PetSmart either for a vet appointment or just to get the dogs bones or a toy or just to torture myself with the adoptable puppies available.

This past Saturday was no different. Well, there was one difference, when we stopped at PetSmart we were parked across from a brand new Aston Martin. I was ready to divorce my husband, not for the guy driving it, but for the actual car. It was a beauty.

Back to the story, I was holding one of the adoptable puppies doing my routine of begging Brian for one when one of the vet techs walks by, “Oh are you all thinking of getting a third?” Dangit. How does everyone here know exactly who we are? “Oh no,” we say, “we were just stopping by to look.”

Fast forward a few minutes at the checkout line where we’re buying our dog’s another bed. We currently have five beds for two dogs but that’s a different story for a different time. We were checking out and the lady said, “Now you all have two dogs right?”

“Yes,” we both said.

“And which one is this for?”

“The smaller brown one.”

“Oh ok and what is the other one again?”

“The shar-pei/lab mix. We’re here a lot…”

“Yeah, like a ton…” she said.

I was too embarrassed to even act offended because it made me laugh. It’s a sad day when everyone at PetSmart knows who you are. Do you have stores or restaraunts where everyone there knows you? Please let me know I’m not alone…

Also, is this sad that this has been the highlight to my week? I think it’s time for some adventure…

Last night Brian and I decided to go on a walk at a trail near our house. It was the first truly warm day in a while so we thought it’d be fun. Obviously the dogs were not invited because they are terrors and if there’s another person or animal within twenty feet of them they feel like they need to show their dominance.

We were casually strolling along and we see this well behaved dog and this couple walking them. As we were talking about how well behaved the dog was the couple got closer and the guy started talking to us.

Crap.

I know this guy and here he is with his well-behaved dog and gorgeous wife. And here I am, wind-blown, thankfully no dogs, and an old t-shirt with a black sports bra showing proudly through said old t-shirt.

And he said, “Oh nice basketball camp shirt.”

Dangit!

I should know by now that anytime I dress like I’m not going to see someone I know, I’ll see someone I know.

Lesson learned.

Friday night I hopped on the treadmill as I do every night because I’m super healthy and in super shape! I just mentally block out all of the chocolate chip cookies and pizza I ate this weekend. And also the lack of movement that took place.

After I got off the treadmill I walk out and can’t find my husband anywhere but I hear this unusual noise coming from our room. Turns out this unusual noise I was hearing was our vacuum. You can understand my confusion because that noise is rarely heard in my house, let alone when said noise is attached to my husband somehow.

He was being the wonderful husband he always is and was vacuuming to help me out with the cleaning. Isn’t he just the best?

Here’s where the problem comes in. I have a mild case of OCD. It comes and goes and only flares up in certain instances. Unfortunately it chose to rear its ugly head while Brian was vacuuming.

I actually told him to not worry about vacuuming and that I would do it. Not because I was being sweet but because my OCD inhabited brain was thinking, “He’s not going to do it right.” “What if he misses a spot that I always get to?” “He won’t remember to do this part of the house.” Why…WHy…WHY brain, why?

A man was vacuuming and I put an end to it.

This has to be a sign of the Apocalypse.

You know those moments when you wish you could go back in time and erase what you just said and then move on with life? That happened last weekend at a lunch gathering with my in-laws at Chilis.

Brian was telling a story and he said a phrase that sounded somewhat offensive. (I won’t give the details because this is a kid-friendly blog) (not that any kids are reading it, but just in case)

I said, with a snicker, “Oh honey you may want to re-phrase that.” Still laughing at myself.

His mother just looked at me like, “Hmmm…”

And his grandfather said, “What? OH–I didn’t even think of that until you said something about it.”

To which my husband replied, while glaring at me, “Yeah, WHY WOULD YOU EVEN SAY SOMETHING LIKE THAT?”

I turned about 30 shades of red and buried my head in my arms while everyone laughed. I remember turning red and getting embarrassed later in the meal but I’ve blocked it out and completely forgot what it was about.

If someone could please pry my foot out of my mouth it would make it a lot easier to breathe. Thanks!

I survived the Snowpocalypse! And I know, I know I should be writing about snow and the dogs and how much they LOVE to play in it, but I don’t wanna’ and you can’t make me.

Instead I’m revealing to you something embarrassing. It’s only embarrassing because it makes me sound crazy. I am crazy–but I think I’m the good crazy, not the senile crazy.

You be the judge.

Often times when I’m doing the laundry I’ll be sitting there minding my own business and I’ll think, “Hmmm…the washing machine finished that load really fast.” I get up and check on it and this is what I see:

I forgot to shut the lid. I can’t tell you how many times I do this every week. Seriously, how do I forget to close the lid?

Then, to take it a step further, my husband went to get food and he returned to this:

I was putting some drinks in there to cool off quickly and apparently shutting the lid was too much for me to remember. He walked in holding the drinks and I said, “Oh how did you even know I put those in there?” He replied, “Well, idiot, you left the lid open.” (He didn’t really say idiot but I could tell he was feeling it.)

People, what is with me? Why does my brain have that disconnect between opening the lid and closing the lid. This is why I can never be a surgeon. “Hmm where did I leave that scalpel again?” Oh that and I want to pass out at the sight of insides.

I really believe there’s no cure for this. I think Brian is just going to have to follow me around shutting lids for the rest of his life.

Not figuratively drowning in balls, literally drowning in them. Today lets talk about childhood experiences that shaped the phobias you now have as an adult. This particular story centers around me being traumatized for life by a ball pit at a certain establishment known as Showbiz Pizza.

Anyone remember this place? Obviously now most (if not all) are Chuck-E-Cheese’s. This place always scared me as a child. That gorilla up there? He may tickle the ivories like no other gorilla I’ve seen but he ruined me of ever liking gorillas. And keyboards. He made me cry on several occasions. And I do realize he was just an animatronic gorilla, but still, as a five-year old it was distressing.

Back to the story at hand. I was a wee child, maybe four or five at the time. We were celebrating one of my brother’s birthdays at the fine establishment mentioned above. There I was in the ball pit minding my own business with probably three of four hundred other kids in there with me. [I can’t even imagine the germs that were floating around in there.] All of the sudden I got pushed and trampled and somehow ended up under layers and layers of plastic balls. I felt like I couldn’t breathe and that this was in fact the end of my life. I vaguely remember putting my hand up through the balls to try to signal for help. I’m sure I was crying and screaming for help. Then out of no where a random stranger pulled me out to safety and into my mother’s arms.

It was a harrowing experience. I’m sure I could have been the first victim of a ball pit drowning if that man wasn’t there to save me. Am I being dramatic? Of course I am. Without a shadow of a doubt I believe that every phobia I have as an adult leads back to this one event. I think it also ties in to my hatred of vegetables.

The past couple of weeks I’ve had friends going through these big life changes and making all of these life altering decisions. 

Here I am, a 28-year-old, married woman and my biggest worry is if I’m going to eat Doritos or Cheetos with my warmed up hot dogs.

The funny thing is, is these friends confide in me and ask for my opinion like I’ve ever had to make a life altering decision. Considering I still go to my mommy to ask her to buy me things or make me something I’m probably not the best source for real grown-up advice.

More than likely this is the main reason I don’t want to have kids. I’m not quite done being a kid myself. Luckily my husband is the same way as me. We spend our nights wrestling each other, playing games, and eating junk food.

It’s awesome.

I think I’ll schedule us a time to pillow fight and play hop-scotch. 

It’ll be totally rad man.

I’ve come to a very important realization in life. When it comes to pictures I just need to be goofy.  Anytime I try to do a serious picture it just turns out horribly.

Here’s a serious pose. All I have to say was what was I smoking before this picture was taken?

Nothing.

But I had just eaten a piece of cheesecake so I was probably high off the fat content. Yummmm. Fat.

Here’s a little less serious.  It’s slowly getting better. My hand is on my hip and my back is arched so I’m obviously having a good time.

Just a note–that’s not my cheesecake plate you see on the counter.  My plate was licked clean. If I’ve learned anything in life, it’s to not leave a thing on your plate. 

Or maybe not.

Here’s the best pose by far.  Nutcracker chin is covered up, body’s covered up and the lighting is just right.  The cheesecake high has worn off and I look genuinely happy.

From now on I’m only posing behind objects and/or people. And also shooting from the waist up.

If you’ve got any photo tips you’ve learned about yourself throughout the years–shout them out in the comments!

I’m still working on smiling with my eyes…

[photos were provided by my beautiful cousin-in-law whom I won’t even put a picture of her up because her beauty is just too much for the eye to handle. Along with the rest of my in-laws.]